


Death By Another Name

by I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Brief Mention of Limb Loss and Innards, Death as a Person, Deathfic, Ending Includes Possibility of Hope, Gen, Heavy Angst, Terminally Ill Child, Umbara, ghost - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 09:11:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16720503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning/pseuds/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning
Summary: Death is no longer available to gather the essence of the dying, so someone else is chosen  for the job.Obi-Wan.





	Death By Another Name

 

“Anakin?”

Obi-Wan's voice sounded small, and as scared as Anakin felt.

The master's form seemed to be wavering, the edges of his skin washing out.

“What is happening to me?” Obi-Wan whispered.

Anakin reached out to touch his shoulder, but his hand passed through the edge, leaving nothing in its wake but a gap.

Obi-Wan stared at it in shock, trembling.

“Obi-Wan.” Anakin startled as a familiar voice rumbled around them without a clear origin point.

Wide, frightened eyes froze in their frantic search. “Master?” Obi-Wan quavered.

“The Force has need of you, Obi-Wan. A calling you are particularly suited for.”

Anakin's heart thundered. “Does he get a _choice_? Or is the Force just going to— _undo_ him? Absorb him and _kill_ him?”

“He is not tasting death,” Qui-Gon soothed, “he will carry it to others, but never taste it himself. He will  _become_ Death.”

Obi-Wan turned to Anakin, tears obscuring his eyes. “I don't want to be something so horrible. Please.”

Anakin made a snap decision that in later years he still couldn't quite believe he attempted, though he remembered the agony and despair in Obi-Wan's eyes, feeling the bond waver, as something tried to steal Obi-Wan's eternity away.

Anakin Skywalker plunged his saber through Obi-Wan Kenobi's heart.

Obi-Wan looked hopeful, grateful—

But he was too far assimilated and the blade did not wound, and what made Obi-Wan  _Obi-Wan_ fragmented into the Force like so many tiny pinpoints of light.

Anakin stood transfixed in the same spot, unable to move, staring at where Obi-Wan had been.

No tears came.

Neither did he move a muscle until his padawan and his captain arrived, and guided him away.

 

* * *

 

There was no time for shock or grief. The battalion was under attack, and the 212 th were reeling from the loss of their general. Rage lit the battlefield like a vicious fire, muddying the Force.

Anakin couldn't really blame them, even if it made the battle more difficult for Ahsoka to navigate. He saw her forehead furrowed in concentration as she had to expend extra effort to reach for the light she needed to survive and battle.

Anakin made sure not to leave her side, just in case something missed her guard.

It was after the battle when he saw him.

Obi-Wan, kneeling by a 212 th trooper who was mostly reclined against a pile of bodies, gagging up blood. The clone's pain was shattering through Anakin's mind, nearly inflicting damage on him, since he couldn't seem to hold up his shields.

Anakin hated triage,  _hated_ it, but he knew better than to use his time on the clearly dying until he'd tended to those who  _might live_ if attention was received  _now._ It felt cold, it felt wrong, but it often resulted in one man alive instead of two dead.

He was tying a tourniquet around the stump of a leg, the rest of which had been lost to a piece of ship hurtling across the battlefield. Anakin thought maybe he'd gotten to this one in time, maybe he could stop him from bleeding to death, here on the dirt.

_That's_ when he saw Obi-Wan. Completely pale, feet not quite touching the ground, stepping out of thin air and then crouching beside a dying trooper.

“General,” the man gurgled. “I-I'm scared.”

Obi-Wan's almost glowing hand reached out, took the trooper's.

The clone clung to his fingers, seemed to  _feel_ them.

“Maybe not so bad, if you show me the way—”

Obi-Wan leaned in, pressed a gentle kiss to the man's lips.

The fear vanished, and while the agony remained, awe softened its edges.

Obi-Wan reached up with his other hand, and as he pulled back just a bit, he brushed his fingers over the trooper's cheek.

Anakin  _saw_ the life go out of the man, his head sagging to the side, his eyes vacant.

Obi-Wan cradled the glowing golden light that had been what made the man a  _person,_ and then he lifted his palms, and with a silent breath, he scattered it into the Force.

He stood, strode barefoot across the blood-soaked field, knelt by a 501 st clone who was missing a good portion of his side and innards.

Anakin started, cringing as he recognized him.

This man Obi-Wan did not kiss.

Then again, this one hadn't been in love with Obi-Wan Kenobi either.

Still, the blue-marked soldier's fear eased when he saw Obi-Wan's face.

“Death doesn't look so bad, when it's you,” the man mumbled, but the words seemed to pierce Anakin's heart through.

_How dare you let that be the reason,_ he thought,  _viciously,_ to the Force.  _What, your former vessel held no meaning to those dying, and so was frightening, when you wanted the dying_ comforted  _as they passed?_

Cody stood, bleeding from a minor wound, staring agape at his general.

Obi-Wan, hands full of the dead trooper's courage, dedication, personality,  _name,_ seemed to sense his commander's regard. He turned, gaze finding Cody's and looking so very sad.

He released the brother to find rest within the Cosmic Force, and moved to the next on the brink.

 

* * *

 

Mareesa, hooked up to oxygen-feeding tubes, looked tiny in her blue bed.

Everything in the eight-year-old child's room was blue: pastel, navy, tropical sea, ice...

For the little warrior, who had lived three years past life expectancy for a child with her condition, surrounding her with the color she loved most seemed a small thing, but it still made her smile, and that smile was worth a planet.

The little one had been declining for days, and even now, could barely keep her eyes open.

It wasn't an easy thing, to know your daughter was about to die. Harder still, to recognize that  _she_ saw it too.

“Saber?” she rasped, something infinitely brave in her eyes.

Maressa's mother placed the painted stick in the cold little hand, silver at one end, with the length of it blue.

Holding it made Mareesa feel strong. Brave.

Adeli hadn't had the heart to tell Mareesa that her hero had died, just days ago in battle. Let the drawings of General Kenobi pinned up all over the walls bring comfort in these last moments, instead of grief.

Movement out of the corner of her eye had Adeli looking to the door.

When she looked back on it later, she wondered how she had understood, within a heartbeat, what it all meant. How it made sense, how it felt  _right._

But General Kenobi stood there, looking the way he did in the holo reports. In armor, saber clipped to his belt, grave and quiet.

It should have been terrifying to see a dead Jedi in her home, to notice his feet weren't quite touching the floor, to see he didn't  _quite_ look...  _physical._

More like an image flickering through from somewhere  _else._

He stepped into the room, and Adeli moved to Mareesa's side, knowing this was it.

He was here to guide her little girl through the death Mareesa had known for a long time now was coming to claim her.

Kenobi moved to the opposite side of the bed and leaned over the exhausted child.

It took Mareesa's eyes a moment to focus on who was watching her, and then those eyes flew wide, sparkling with wonder, disbelief, and joy.

“Mom,” she rasped, “he came to _see me_!”

To the mother's eyes, it looked like the General's heart broke at the words, but he smiled down at the little one.

“I— have a lightsaber, just like yours,” Mareesa rasped, trying to lift her stick.

Gentle hands accepted it from her, keen eyes inspected it.

He smiled with approval, and Mareesa practically glowed happiness.

He placed the stick back in her hand, wrapping her fingers around the “hilt,” and brushed a hand over her hair.

Adeli leaned down, pressed a kiss to her daughter's forehead, taking her free hand in her own. “I love you, my little knight.” Her heart was too full for more, as a tear slipped down her cheek.

_Please,_ she thought to the messenger here for her daughter,  _don't let it hurt. And don't let her be scared._

“I'm ready,” Mareesa whispered. “I know why you're here.”

It was in the moment between seconds, when Mareesa took her leave. Her eyelids fluttered shut, the labored chest fell still, and General Kenobi held his empty palms up, as if blowing sparkles into the air.

For a long moment he stared down at the little one, looking so sad.

Then he turned, and walked for the door.

“Thank you,” Adeli choked. The excitement, the adoration, the sheer  _joy_ her daughter had experienced in meeting her hero...

_You gave her something. Something that meant the world to her._

He paused, glanced over his shoulder at her. He gave her a grave nod, and then he was gone.

 

* * *

 

Umbara was hell.

The flickers of light in a world perpetually dark, the mists it was near impossible to see through, the terrible creatures that crawled out of the dirt to slaughter brothers in horrific ways.

And Krell.

Oh, worst of all, Krell.

While they knew they could not resent the Chancellor calling General Skywalker away, the 501 st couldn't help but wonder  _what_ could be more important than the desperate battles being waged  _here._

Ahsoka and Plo were at the south hemisphere, with the 212 th and 104 th , and the 501 st were left to take the enemy airfield with Krell leading them. 

A man who couldn't recognize guerrilla tactics when they exploded in his  _face,_ and who thought for  _sure_ that marching in a straight row against an enemy that moulded to the trees and terrain  _was somehow_ the smart thing to do.

It felt like a fripping nightmare pulled straight from a history book.

The brothers had put it down to hatred of clones— which might be the case— or complete incompetence...  _also_ a good guess, but that was before  _this_ battle.

The battle where he told the 501 st the Umbarans had appropriated clone armor...

And had apparently sent intel to the 212 th that said the same thing.

Rex reeled, staring at the dead and dying—  _all of them brothers_ , and felt utter despair seize him.

Fives was right.

Krell wasn't incompetent. He'd gone  _bad._

Rex didn't know what to  _do_ with a Jedi gone  _bad._ He knew in theory it could happen.  _Dooku_ was proof of that, but on the other hand, Dooku was the  _only_ proof of it in a family ten thousand members strong.

Rex hadn't stopped trusting his brothers after Slick, after all.

A hand gripped his shoulder and he turned his head. Found General Kenobi standing there, tears streaming down his face.

Lips moved, the words clear, but no sound reaching Rex's ears. “I'm sorry,” as if this had  _anything_ to do with being General Kenobi's fault, as if  _he_ hadn't been betrayed by Krell too.

And then Kenobi had moved, and was kneeling beside Waxer, who was gasping in his last breaths.

“Oh,” Waxer stuttered, his gaze meeting Kenobi's. “General.”

Kenobi looked as if his heart were breaking.

A tear slipped from Waxer's eye. “My brothers.”

Kenobi supported his neck with a hand, and as Waxer's head rolled, his eyes open and dead, Kenobi guided the movement, gentled it, until his chin hung down.

The General's fingers brushed over the painting of Numa on Waxer's helmet, and what sounded like a shuddering breath escaped him.

And then he was up, and whispering the essence of brothers into the Force, gentling the horror of those awake enough to understand, easing the fear of the terrified.

The 212 th had always been ready to go wherever Kenobi led.

And if he led the way, walked into death ahead, then following did not seem so terrifying.

When it was over, Kenobi stepped in front of where Rex crouched, unable to move.

A pale hand took one of Rex's pistols from his holster, and placed it in his hand. A fire burned in Kenobi's eyes, not of rage, but of  _demand._

_You're right,_ Rex realized.  _I have to stop him._

Kenobi gave him a grim, slow nod.

“Can you help?” Rex asked, desperate.

How could he and his brothers hope to take down a Jedi without  _horrific_ casualties?

Kenobi shook his head, looking bereft.

“We'll find a way to take him down,” Rex swore.

They had to.

 

* * *

 

Rex froze up, when he had his pistol aimed for the back of Krell's head.

He couldn't pull the trigger.

Thankfully, someone else did.

Terrifyingly, it was Dogma, who had stolen Fives' weapon to do so.

Still not sure just how terribly damaged Dogma's mind had been by Krell, they kept him contained, but the fight had gone out of Dogma as the Besilisk fell forward with a hole through his head.

And then Kenobi was there, standing over the Jedi brother who had betrayed him, and there was disgust in his eyes.

The essence that pooled in his hands looked dark and viscous, unlike the sparkles of gold light that Kenobi always received from a dying clone.

Face twisted with revulsion, Kenobi picked out the two tiny glimmers of something that had once been good, and he released them into the Force.

The rest, he threw on the floor with a violence that shocked all the clones present, and ground it beneath his heel.

Then he turned, strode to Dogma, whose eyes went wide, and whose shaking increased, nearly jittering out of his skin.

Kenobi took Dogma's head in both his hands, and leaned his forehead to rest against the shattered trooper's.

Slowly, the vod's trembling eased, though sobs wrenched through him and tears streamed down his cheeks.

Rex hoped their dead Jedi could help fix what had broken in Dogma's mind, but he didn't know if that were ever possible.

And while Rex knew the Jedi would back the clones for doing what they had to, for surviving...

Rex doubted Dogma would ever be able to set foot on a field of battle again.

His brother was far too wounded.

 

* * *

 

Maul needed to know if Kenobi had  _truly_ become Death.

There was one way to find out for sure, without drawing the attention of Sidious.

Maul took over Mandalore, and then ran Kenobi's sweetheart through with the darksaber.

For two seconds, the Duchess lay on the floor, silently enduring the pain as life ebbed away, and then  _Kenobi_ appeared, kneeling beside her, gathering her in his arms, tears streaming down his face.

The Mandalorian reached up, caught one on her finger.

Kenobi's lips were moving, and though no sound emerged, it wasn't difficult to read.

_“I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”_

“K'uur,” Kryze soothed, brushing her fingers over his lips. “Udesi, my heart. Yours is the face I would choose to see, here at the end.”

Maul watched as Kenobi received her life force, scattering it into the depths of the Cosmic Force.

And then he turned, climbed the stairs of the dais, and simply stared down into Maul's eyes.

“So it's true,” Maul murmured, amazed.

Sidious had never believed in such myths, that Death was a person, chosen to bring comfort.

_“Why?”_ Kenobi asked, the sound missing, but the question clear.

“Curiosity. I needed to know what had become of you. The truth, not the eyewitness statements filtered by minds that have no idea what they're seeing. And she was a person that no matter where you went, you would come for.”

Kenobi didn't say a word, but his grief and keen feeling of just how  _unjust_ the whole thing was hung about him like a fog.

Maul leaned back, one leg propped on an arm of the throne. “Real question is, why you haven't left yet. I'm sure you have duties somewhere.”

Kenobi watched him for a moment longer, and then compassion filled his eyes. He sighed, and turned his head to look just to the right of the throne.

Where Savage stood.

Maul sat up, throat closing, fists clenching. “There is  _no one,_ ” he hissed, “besides a living  _you_ who could come  _close_ to killing my brother while I'm here.”

Death could not take a creature not already dying. It was an immutable law of the universe.

But Kenobi did not look back to Maul, instead watching Savage with a quiet, knowing gaze.

Maul's heart thundered as the realization hit him.

No one could come close...

But there was  _one._

“Master,” he rasped, fear and desperation and  _hate_ and all those years as a child being  _tormented_ by that  _vicious man—_

Kenobi looked back to him, and that sorrowful, compassionate look was back. The one Maul  _hated_ and feared, the one that made  _no sense at all._

Kenobi somehow seemed to keep  _Maul_ separate from what Maul  _had done,_ and Kenobi still mourned for the tiny child Sidious had beaten to conform to his will.

It wasn't pity, which Maul would have scorned. It was  _grief._

Pity was a thing given to someone you didn't care about. It was condescending. You pitied a dying animal, but it had no real meaning to how you lived your life.

Grief was something else entirely. It was as if Kenobi  _saw_ where he had come from, everything he had done to survive and grow stronger, because he  _had_ to be stronger, had to be  _free_ of Sidious.

Who was coming.

And would kill Savage.

It happened.

And as Maul was dragged away by Sidious to be locked once more in his cage, as utter terror and grief and helplessness drowned him—

He caught a glimpse of Kenobi, kneeling beside his brother, gathering everything that had been good about Savage into his hands, and releasing it to find peace.

With a tenderness Maul feared and a compassion Maul hated—

But if Kenobi had been able to free him from Sidious' grasp right this second, Maul would have accepted the help, as humiliating as it would have been.

Only...

No one could help Maul.

 

* * *

 

Fives stood by the table's side, horrified.

They'd taken the _thing_ out of Tup's head—

But Tup's condition was plummeting, instead of improving. He was  _dying._

_Oh, Force, is it because I told AZ to take the tumor out?_

Was it Fives' fault?

A hand settled on his shoulder and he startled, terrified it was the kaminoan who had wanted to  _put Tup down_ and  _dissect him_ rather than give him an atomic-level scan. Thank every  _star_ for Shaak Ti.

The mother of clones had  _words_ to say, and was not about to budge on the subject.

But Fives feared the kaminoans. Feared what they might do while Shaak Ti was busy trying to hold them back in one area.

She couldn't be everywhere at once.

But it was General Kenobi standing behind him, and Fives at once felt his terror ease, even as grief welled, since he knew what it meant.

He held up the slide with the tumor on it. “Do you know what this is, Sir?”  
Kenobi shook his head, looking puzzled.

“It was  _in Tup,_ Sir.”

Blue eyes widened with surprise and questions.

“I swear I will get to the bottom of it, Sir. I  _swear._ Just please... take good care of Tup.”

Kenobi gave him a solemn nod, and stepped to Tup's side.

He took one cold hand in his own, passed the other hand over the shaved surgery site.

Tup squinted his eyes open. “The nightmares,” he mumbled, “they're gone.”

Kenobi smiled, just a little, brushing his thumb against the skin near Tup's eye.

“General... they're gone.”

He sounded so relieved that it made Fives' throat choke up with tears.

_I'm sorry, Brother._

Fives was relieved to see the golden flecks of light that floated softly over Kenobi's palms.

Tup had been hurt, sick maybe, but he hadn't been  _bad._ Not like Krell.

Fives swallowed his grief, stood at attention, and remained that way as Kenobi guided Tup away from the hell that was life.

He returned to Fives, placed a hand to the side of the trooper's head. It was a gesture Fives recognized General Kenobi having used after sparring with General Skywalker. It signified pride and connection.

In this case, Fives suspected it was meant to strengthen him.

He couldn't say it worked, but he appreciated the concern in their dead General's eyes.

“This is a kark mission, Sir. If it all goes to pieces, you'll be there to catch me, right?”

A solemn nod was the dead General's oath.

_At least I have that._

 

* * *

 

Rex wasn't sure he could  _take_ any more. He  _couldn't._

Fives lay  _dying on the ground,_ shot by  _Fox,_ and why,  _why_ had the universe gone  _mad_ ?

Skywalker stood near, solemn and grieved, but  _he_ hadn't been listening to Fives' words either.

And while Rex knew those words sounded impossible, like Fives had been ill and maybe hallucinating...

Rex had seen this brother go from a naive shiny to a clever bastard who'd  _earned_ his ARC status. Had seen him lose  _every one_ of his batch mates, and  _still_ pressed forward, steady as a fripping stone wall when Rex had seen other brothers fall apart from that alone.

And he'd been right about Krell, long before Rex had been willing to entertain the idea that their current superior officer was...

Evil.

_He was right. And if I'd listened sooner, a lot of good men might have been saved._

Not all of them. He knew that. Taking down Krell at  _any_ point would have resulted in hideous casualties.

But maybe clone wouldn't have shot clone in the mists of Umbara.

Fox and his squad stood around Fives, horrified by what they had done.

Rex ripped off his own helmet and collapsed to the duracrete, pulling Fives into his lap, begging his brother to hold on, just  _hold on, dammit—_

The crimson-clad brothers parted to let General Kenobi through, when Death arrived.

Rex looked to him in desperation, but knew it was too late.

Kenobi met his pleading gaze with a grief-stricken look of his own, and then knelt beside Fives, and put all his attention there.

“You made it,” Fives coughed a chuckle, when he saw Kenobi. “Force, I'm glad you made it.”

Kenobi managed a heartbreaking smile and nod, and reached to cup the side of Five's head.

“I k-kept my end of the bargain,” Fives stuttered, his voice weakening, going fragile.

Kenobi gave another nod.

“The nightmares are gone.” Fives' eyes opened wide with wonder. His gaze sought Rex's. “You know the ones. The nightmares... are gone.”

And then  _he_ was gone too, and Kenobi was safeguarding Fives' transition to the place the Jedi could feel, but Rex sure as hell couldn't.

He was glad the nightmare was over for Fives.

But for Rex...

It had only just begun anew.

 

* * *

 

“Obi-Wan, wait.  _Please._ ”

The apparition paused on its journey to the door.

The clones were still huddled around their dead brother, but Anakin had jogged after Obi-Wan, desperate for contact.

“Obi-Wan, did you know what Fives was looking for?”

An earnest nod.

The next question, the reasonable question choked in Anakin's throat. “He'd... lost it, there by the end, right?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, vehement, eyes wide and alarmed, and Anakin's blood froze in his veins.

“F-Fives was  _right_ ?” Anakin whispered, hardly able to  _comprehend—_

Obi-Wan stepped closer, gripped Anakin's shoulder tight, and nodded, then nodded again, even more definitely, as if afraid the communication might end up lost in translation.

Anakin felt his throat close up. “ _Palpatine_ ?” he whispered, feeling  _ravaged._ He had always felt  _safe, loved—_

Obi-Wan nodded, then drew him into a tight embrace as Anakin collapsed against him, silent tears without sobs escaping from Anakin's eyes.

_My Force, what are we going to do?_

The chips were nefarious and Palpatine had tried to  _kill_ Fives to silence him? 

Had  _succeeded_ in manipulating Fives' death to silence him?

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin managed, pulling back and staring into that mournful face, “ _what are the chips for_ ?”

Obi-Wan shook his head and lifted his shoulders.

_You weren't able to follow all of his investigation._

Of course not. There were dying sufferers who needed his kindness.

“I will figure it out,” Anakin swore. “If it does to all of them what it did to Tup, makes them kill Jedi—”

Anakin saw the terror, the heartbreak ripping across Obi-Wan's face.

Anakin seized Obi-Wan's hands and gripped them tight. “If that's what the chips do, I will  _find out and stop it._ I promise, I  _will protect them for you,_ since you cannot.”

Tears filled Obi-Wan's eyes, and one spilled down his cheek.

_“Thank you,”_ his lips moved, slow and distinct.

“Of course,” Anakin whispered, his heart too full for much else.

Obi-Wan faded out of view, and Anakin's fingers collapsed in towards his palms as what they held faded too.

He closed his eyes and tried to breathe.

He felt Fox's men walking past, leaving.

And then there was only one pair of footsteps left.

“General,” Rex spoke up, his voice rough from tears and still sounding stricken, “what do we do?”  
“We lie, Rex. We lie very, very convincingly, until we know what the frip we're dealing with, and save your brothers, and Obi-Wan's brothers.” Anakin risked a glance at his suffering captain.

The trust and determination in those eyes strengthened Anakin, and oh, did he need that strength just now.

Anakin gripped his shoulder and managed a grim smile. “And we contact Ahsoka.”

 

 


End file.
